A Comedy of Masks: A NovelDowson, Ernest Christopher
General
A Comedy of Masks: A Novel
Dowson, Ernest Christopher
Fiction
"If you marry me, you will find out," he said. "Oh, you shall have
them, I promise you that! I want you immensely, Mary! I am just
going into public life, I mean to go far--and if I have your
support, your sympathy, if you become my wife, I shall go much
farther. And I want to take you away from all this littleness, and
put you where you can be felt, where your character--I can't say how
I admire it--may have scope."
"I am sorry," she said again; "you are very good, and you do me
great honour: but I can only answer as before--it is not possible."
"Ah, but you give no reason!" he cried. "There is no reason."
"Is it not a good enough one that I do not love you?" said the girl.
"Only marry me," he persisted, "and that will come. I don't want to
hurry you, you know. I would rather you would take time and
consider; give me your answer in a week or two's time."
They were silent for a little; Sylvester was now perfectly composed:
his own agitation seemed to have communicated itself to the girl,
whom he watched intently, with his bland, impartial gaze. She had
closed her eyes, was resting her chin on her bouquet, and appeared
to be deeply meditating his words. She looked up at last with a
little shiver.
"I am very tired," she said. "If I promise to think over what you
have said to-night and to give you my answer in a month's time, will
you try and find Lady Garnett for me now?"
"Ah, Miss Masters--Mary!" he said, "that is all I want."
"And in the meantime," she pursued gently, "to allow the subject to
drop?"
"You must make your own terms," he said; "but surely I may come and
see you?"
"Very well," she consented, after a moment; "if it gives you any
pleasure, you may come."
At which Charles simply took her cold, irresponsive hand in his own,
with a silent pressure. Irresponsive as it was, however, he reminded
himself, she had made no effective protest against the gesture.
CHAPTER XXVIII
At Lady Day, when the negotiations for the sale of his unprofitable
riverside domain were finally concluded, Rainham scarcely regretted
to find that an ample margin had been left before the new company
took possession; and he had still several months, during which he
might remain in occupation of his old habitation, and arrange
leisurely for the subsequent disposition of his books and more
intimate personal chattels. The dilapidated old house was to be
pulled down by the new owners (the plans for an extensive warehouse,
to be erected on the site of it, were already in the hands of the
builders), and this also was a fact from which Rainham derived a
certain satisfaction.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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